CHAPTER 192: VIPER PIT

The remaining three hundred days felt less like time passing and more like a slow, suffocating walk to the gallows.

Inside the secluded solar of Duke Valerian’s heavily guarded townhouse, the four men who had once ruled the human kingdom's grand military policy looked like hollowed-out husks. Outside, rain lashed against the leaded glass windows, mirroring the bleak shadow hanging over the capital. The room reeked of spilled brandy and cold sweat.

Nobody drank anymore. Nobody slept. The image of the flayed assassin’s skin and the ash of Fortress Ironwatch lived behind their eyelids every time they closed their eyes.

"Three hundred days," Marquis Corvin muttered, staring blankly at his own twitching hands. "He didn't even march an army. He sent one old dark elf and a handful of shadows, and three thousand of our best border guards vanished in a single night. We are dead men, Valerian. Dead men walking."

"Shut your mouth, Corvin!" Duke Valerian barked, though his own voice lacked its usual aristocratic authority, quavering at the edges. "We still have the King. Alden won't surrender us. If he surrenders us, it proves the Crown is weak!"

"The King doesn't care about the Crown's dignity anymore! He cares about his neck!" Chancellor Oswald interjected, his fat fingers digging into his velvet lapels. His face was blotchy, his eyes bloodshot. "I saw him yesterday in the high archive. He was looking over the old records of Castle Precipice! He's preparing the paper trail, Valerian! He's going to pin the entire conspiracy solely on us to wash his own hands clean!"

Silence fell over the room, save for the rhythmic patter of rain.

Grand Commander Teryn, standing by the cold hearth, quietly unbuckled his heavy longsword and laid it on the table. The sharp metallic clatter made all three men flinch.

"Teryn?" Valerian asked, his eyes narrowing instantly. "What are you doing?"

Teryn looked at the three nobles with unadulterated contempt. "Caius’s signpost didn't demand the King’s head and ours. It gave an option. Surrender the King, or deliver the heads of the four men on the list."

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Corvin’s breath hitched. "Teryn... what are you saying?"

"I am saying," Teryn said softly, his hand dropping casually toward a concealed stiletto at his hip, "that Caius’s feud is with the men who orchestrated his father’s death. You, Valerian, refused to send reinforcements when the Orc horde hit Castle Precipice because Cullum discovered your illegal mints. Chancellor Oswald fabricated the treason charges to cover it up. Marquis Corvin deliberately held back the garrison to let the Orc Chieftain overwhelm him."

Teryn took a slow step backward toward the heavy oak door.

"I was merely the commander who kept the army standing by on royal orders," Teryn continued, his voice cold and devoid of loyalty. "My name is on that list because I wore the armor. But if I deliver the three of you in chains to the border, if I bring the Sovereign the actual architects who let Cullum Macrae bleed out, perhaps the Sovereign’s mercy will extend to a soldier who simply held the line."

"You traitorous dog!" Valerian shrieked, drawing a gilded dagger from his belt.

Before Valerian could take two steps, Marquis Corvin suddenly lunged, not at Teryn, but at Valerian.

Corvin tackled the older Duke onto the hardwood floor, his hands clawing wildly for Valerian’s throat. "He’s right! It was your fear, Valerian! You hated Cullum because he held Castle Precipice and refused to bow to your council! Why should my house burn for your conspiracy?!"

"Get off me, you fool!" Valerian gagged, driving his gilded dagger deep into Corvin’s shoulder.

Corvin screamed in agony, but Chancellor Oswald, driven by pure, hysterical self-preservation, grabbed a heavy silver candelabra from the side table and brought it smashing down onto the back of Valerian’s head with a sickening crack.

Valerian collapsed, blood pooling across the expensive silk carpet. He groaned weakly, his dagger slipping from his bloodied fingers.

Oswald stood over his former ally, panting heavily, his eyes wide with wild, manic desperation. "We take him to the King," Oswald wheezed, wiping blood spatters off his cheek with his sleeve. "We take Valerian and Corvin, we tell His Majesty that they were the ones who ordered the army to hold back at Castle Precipice! If we give Caius two heads now, maybe... maybe he’ll grant us an extension!"

Teryn looked at the two blood-soaked, hysterical men writhing on the floor, then at Oswald, whose mind had clearly snapped under the terror of the Sovereign’s countdown.

"You fool," Teryn whispered, pulling his cloak tightly around his shoulders as he turned the brass door handle. "Caius isn't a trader selling grain at a market. He doesn't negotiate fractions. The counter is at two hundred and ninety-nine days, and when the time runs out, he will take all four of our heads himself."

Teryn stepped out into the stormy night, leaving the remaining conspirators bleeding and weeping in the dark, tearing each other apart long before the Obsidian Legion ever had to march.